


shorts from the north-canon

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Important" or (and) "Peace" for Jon x Sansa</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Important" or (and) "Peace" for Jon x Sansa

“I love you,” Sansa’s eyes rose from her needlework. The snap, crack of the fire the only sound, save the thudding of her heart. She might have thought she imagined it, she’d imagined it often enough. The shock of Jon’s face told her the words had tumbled from his mouth.  
He sat in the chair across from her as he always had during their evenings. After supper they would retire to her solar, share Dornish red, and sit in a comfortable sort of silence. It was never deliberate, if she had something to say she would, and he would quip back. Their days were filled with chatter, petitioners, complaints, ravens, and sums; their nights all they wanted was this.  
She hadn’t expected him to fall in love with her. Although, she wondered, what did she really expect? She spent nearly every hour alongside him, doing her duty as the Lady of Winterfell until he found someone suitable to marry of course. Daenerys had gifted him with the North after the war, a near wasteland. Still with what little gold they were given, and those loyal to the North they had brought it up. No where near its former glory, but habitable. He hadn’t wanted it, but she insisted that if it did not go to him Daenerys surely would not let it go to her. So they ran it together. Lord and Lady in everything but the ceremony.  
It was nearly everything she wanted, and it seemed he wanted the same.  
“I apologize my Lady,” he said rising from his chair, his intent to leave clear. It made something within her ache, the thought of him leaving with a carefully neutral look drawn over his face.  
“Did you not mean it then?” She watched his face soften.  
“Of course I mean it,” Jon said softly. “It has caused you discomfort, I’ll not bring it up again.”  
Sansa set her needlework aside and moved her skirts so he could join her on the bench. “It is natural you would feel this way. I perform nearly all the tasks a wife does as lady of the keep,” it would not do well for him to confuse that for love.  
“That isn’t why I said it.” Jon never stopped her mid-sentence, even if he disagreed he heard her out. He rubbed his palm aross his beard, a gesture she noticed when he was trying to find words. “You’ve become my lady yes, and perhaps that is part of it.” He rose, Ghost’s ears twitched at the movement but he remained curled at Sansa’s feet.  
"If you had asked to go anywere after Daenerys gave me the North I would have seen to it. If you would be happier in Lys, or Braavos I would have let you go, secured you safe passage and a guard. When you said you would come back despite everything Sam suggested making you lady of the keep might make things more comfortable.”  
“It has,” she offered encouraging him to continue.  
“You always seem to know what I need. When I am at a loss for words you have them; in the moments I doubt myself you offer your support. There are times I still don’t know how I would address everything on my own. It’s the moments here though,” he paused dragging a hand through his hair. “I never thought I would have this with anyone. Even when I used to imagine it,” He opened his mouth then closed it, then did it again.  
Sansa stood up and joined him at the mantle reaching for his hand. The weight of it in his seemed to spark the courage to finish his thought. “This is better.”


	2. surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt- jon x sansa surprise

Sam thought the brother he once had was lost to him, until he saw Jon with the babe.  
Husbands are never in the birthing room, Sam had already told Jon twice, and expected he would have to say so again. Lady Sansa had hardly been three moons gone before Jon consulted with him. Sam answered his questions with a practiced patience. Yes, Lady Sansa would eventually feel well enough to break her fast. No , it was not uncommon for mothers to be sick for such long periods.  
He thought the Jon Snow he once knew, the man he said his vows before a heart tree beside, his brother in black, died out when he became Lord Commander. When he watched him now, dismissing Gilly so he could tend to his lady wife, he wondered how true that assumption had been.  
They had grown to love one another, for Jon had married Lady Sansa to allow her to stay. Sam had only heard Jon mention Sansa as his half-sister three times total as brothers on the Wall, only in passing; he never spoke of her as he did his goodsister Arya. When the two married Sam nearly couldn’t believe another person considered duty so high as Jon.  
Slowly he watched the icy exterior of his Lord, no his brother, melt away. Jon had Sam sit at the high table with him, he never gave a reason, and Sam didn’t want to ask. Some evenings after they looked through the ledgers, and sent ravens, Jon would talk to Sam about other things. He would ask about Gilly and her boy, and if Sam had been able to properly explore the library.  
There had been small adjustments, Sam noticed, from how Jon looked after Castle Black to how he looked after Winterfell. He took time to train and teach; he learned about his men as more than swords and arrows. Sam wondered how much of that had come from Lady Sansa’s encouragement. Gilly had told him Lady Sansa knew details about everyone in the North.  
The depth of The Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s marriage was the talk of the smallfolk until Lady Sansa was with child. They saw the Lord and Lady Stark instead of the Lord and Lady Snow after that, Gilly heard them talking about it. Sam wondered if Lord Stark was as nervous as Jon when Lady Stark was with child.  
They were all surprised in Jon’s solar the first time he said he wanted to be there when the babe was born. Sam had told him it was not done, and Lady Sansa shook her head and said I do not expect that from you, my Lord. It was the first time Sam had seen Jon do anything openly affectionate with his wife, placing his hand over hers and insisted he would be there if she wanted him to be.  
The second time Sam was less surprised. He said it in passing and Sam reminded him again that it was not a common practice. Yet somehow that was where he was when the babe was born. Lyanna, they called her, with her Stark coloring. The most shocking thing was the tender way Jon looked at the babe and his wife. Lady Sansa shifted to the side, ever so slightly so he could join them on the bed. Sam knew Jon felt like an outsider, it was the start to their friendship; he wondered if his brother felt like he truly belonged somewhere now.


	3. hunter's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I wrote for Hunter's birthday :)

It was hard to keep such a secret, Maester Sam knew, she only wanted to be sure before she told him. Sansa cast Jon a glance from across the solar, frowning over a letter. His grey eyes dragged away from the paper and she immediately returned her focus to the table before her. She’d once been so good at keeping secrets, but sometimes it seemed he could tell her every thought, just the idea of it made her flush.

She chanced another look and found his eyes still trained on her with his mouth lifted in a smirk. She ducked her head down forcing down the smile that threatened to overtake her. As a girl she hadn’t truly understood what her mother meant when she talked about the good heartedness of her father. She had never known men to be different until she left Winterfell, if she truly thought on it. They were courteous to her because she was their Lord’s daughter. She’d learned of course, and learned again and again.

Night after night she’d looked over proposals, straining her eyes in the dim candle light. She held the North, it was dowry enough; Sansa had decided long ago this marriage would be her final one, would she come to love any of these men? In those moments she thought of her father’s words, brave, and gentle, and strong.

Then there was Jon, with a worn band of black brothers at his back. Half-brother no longer, but a cousin. She’d been startled at first, when he dismounted and knelt before her. Jon looked more like home than any of the strangers who wandered in and out of the keep, it had taken a long time to accustom herself to his face, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

He kept his distance at first, never wanting to impose. She learned through whispers of the war, the man of songs leading an army to protect the realm. Even to this day she hadn’t asked him about the long winter, he hadn’t tried to share that with her. She had always thought Jon to be brave, the thought of him fostered bravery in Alayne Stone all those years ago.

He brought that out of everyone it seemed, Maester Sam considered himself craven, she could tell by the tone of his stories, the way he focused on the brave actions of his friends more than he ever mentioned himself. Even though he always spoke of his fear before his action, as though to discredit himself, Sansa knew better than anyone that bravery was action in spite of fear.

In the early days she and Sam would go to the taining yard, she had no master of arms then. Jon had fallen into the role easily, naturally, even a bit unknowingly. Castle duties seemed to halt when he took to the yard, girls would giggle when Jon took up his own sword to demonstrate, his back flexed obscenely, Sansa usually guided Sam away in those moments before anyone could see the blush that stained her cheeks.

Physically Jon was strong, there was no denying that. In their marriage Sansa had come to recognize the strength in his presence as well. There were still days where she would wake feeling out of place and alone. In the past Jon would sit beside her, sometimes for hours in silence, other times he would remind her of who she was. As time passed he would wrap a heavy arm around her, anchoring her to the world. It took time before he took her hand in his own, large, and rough from swords and arrows. Jon was always tentative and gentle.

They had fallen in love, and had been married for only a year. As Jon’s name day approached she wanted to plan a celebration to befit his status, Lord of Winterfell, nothing more. He always gave, and she felt as though she always took, even as a girl. Name days were always meant to be a treat, she remembered many of hers, flower crowns and lemon cakes, the boys always played Come into my Castle, and her lady mother took extra time on her hair.

Jon was born in the winter, like Alayne. He would spend the days with her father, there was no feast and no one questioned that, except Arya once. Bastards weren’t often afforded the same attentions as true born children in the North. Bastards could hide and no one would question such a thing. Sansa hadn’t considered it until recently, though they may not have been close in the past, she wanted Jon to have everything.

Absently she ran a hand across her belly, she’d known for almost a moons turn. He’d always made her feel safe, before the walls had gone up around the keep, when she could feel herself slipping away he was there. The years had brought out a practicality, one that valued the safety over jewels. It had always been plain to see that he only wanted to belong, she could finally give him a family.


	4. angst at the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon x Sansa: "It’s okay to cry…"

The news had come as a shock to the pair of them. Even as the long nights passed it seemed that Jon needed distance with his thoughts. There were times that Jon would disappear for hours, informing no one of his departure. Some of his men worried, but she knew he would return. He was a man of duty, and vows; no amount of distance could dissolve the Wall, no matter how much _she_ wished for it.  
There was always a meager supper awaiting him upon his return, kept hot until he rode into the stables. She would sit with him, waiting for a sound, any reaction in all honesty. Jon was not made to be the empty shell of a man before her. He said nothing, and yet the nights grew longer, and the battle drew nearer. She could not send him off to a war like this.   
It was Howland Reed’s fault for appearing so suddenly in their lives. For telling them the truth about Jon’s mother, and his father as it seemed. Sansa felt a selfish sense of relief, for she had come to feel affection toward her half-brother, now cousin the longer she stayed at the Wall. She felt shamed each time one of his brother’s glanced their way a moment too long. Selfish because even his misery she found herself the slightest bit pleased, which in turn caused her more shame.  
Still she waited for his return each night, to stare across the little table at a man she had come to love in silence. “Please talk to me Jon,” her voice trembled as she spoke.  
“There’s nothing to say,” he stared through her into the flames. “You are neither my sister nor my lady, you don’t need to bear my burdens.”  
Even so she could hear his sobs as she tried to sleep, a breath away from him on a bed that was too small for a pair to lay comfortably side by side. Sansa pulled him close, his body shook with the force of his emotion but she held strong. “It’s all right Jon,” she soothed as his tears rendered patches of her shift sheer. “It’s okay to cry,” they would get through this step, they would get through the war, and then once he returned she would return to her selfish thoughts, and perhaps they would not be so selfish after all.


	5. don't trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't trust me (jon x alayne)

This is wrong, Alayne thought as the Lord Commander’s mouth worked over hers. It wasn’t the sort of spot Sansa Stark would have found herself in, there was no question in her mind; Alayne was not Sansa though. His hands slid firmly along her sides. He’s your brother, but even Sansa Stark knew there was no truth in those words.   
He had no idea that the girl he grew up alongside was arched between him and the wall. His mouth moved from hers, dark eyes infinitely darker when he started to kiss down the column of her neck. She was as excited as she was terrified. “My Lord,” she breathed when his hands moved, one to the swell of her hips holding her to him, the other laced with hers level with her shoulders against the wall.  
“Jon,” he corrected in a thick voice. Oh, this is bad she thought when she felt his mouth sucking hot blooms onto her neck. She hadn’t meant for it to go this far, not really. She was charged with a task, it wouldn’t do to forget that.   
Earn his trust sweetling, Littlefinger said. He’ll give it freely enough, and then we’ll be one step closer. She hadn’t asked what they would be closer to, just thankful for a moment close to her family, her true family.   
They didn’t feel like family though. Not as she disentangled herself from his grasp to lead him to her rooms. Not when she guided his hand to her breast, or when he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. No, this was not family. But Jon was not really family.  
It had taken all of her tricks to get him there, even with her delays it had taken longer than she expected. He had Ned Stark’s influence, noble to the core. Alayne had asked for his assistance when she could until he had grown used to her. It was why he accepted food so freely from her, and oft left his sword in his chambers during nights like this. She wanted to warn him, but to warn him would take away her own safety.   
He stared openly at her, after she’d taken her pleasure. Venerable beside her. “You shouldn’t let your guard down so easily my Lord,” she warned. The sooner he went back to doubting her the safer he would be, the longer she would be allowed to see him.  
“Do you mean to hurt me?” He didn’t chuckle as she expected him to.   
“I mean you no harm,” she answered honestly. “Bad things happen to people who trust me.”  
“I guess I’ll keep both of us safe.” He kissed her temple, and for the first time she wished she had told him the truth.


	6. shit are you bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JonxSansa; "Shit, are you bleeding?" "Look at me- just breathe."

He was too late, he should have come for her straight away. He should have insisted upon it before the war had started, he thought her safe. A naive thought, it had been a long time past since Westeros was safe.   
His steps were brisk as he approached, she was Sansa only in name for she’d changed since he last saw her. Wide blue eyes turned on him, he cursed. “Are you bleeding?” He took her hands in his, trembling, stained red like the front of her gown. His thumbs brushed her temples, drawing her eyes up to his.   
“I’m… I’m,” she was terrified. He watched her eyes dart to the door, then to the men who had come up to the castle with him. She went weak in his arms, whether in relief or exhaustion he could not be sure. He held strong, soon the sound of her sobs echoed through the hall.   
“Jon?” Grenn called, “we found something.”  
The body placed in the hall hadn’t been dead for long. Sansa hid her face, the tears coming freely. “Please take it away,” she begged. The stench wasn’t as bad as the wounds. _She couldn’t have done this_ , Jon thought. _Sansa’s too gentle, she can’t even stand the sight of blood._  
“Sansa, what happened?” She shook her head against his chest, choking out protests. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me- just breathe ok?” They fell to the ground, and he held her for what seemed like hours. The sun had set by the time she said anything.  
“I just waned to go home,” he’d never heard her voice so raw. “He wanted to keep me here,” Jon smoothed her hair. “He promised.” There was more to it, the girl he’d once called his sister wouldn’t condemn a man to death for that.   
“I’ll take you home, if you’d like.” he said into her hair. “You don’t have to tell me anymore, there’ll be time for that later.”


	7. don't trust me ii

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he tried to sound remorseful but she could hear the hint of his smile. Her heart was still racing, she was sure he could feel it even over the sound of hooves hitting the earth. “Where will we go?”  
“Anywhere,” she answered leaning into him. The Eyrie was shrinking in the distance, but she still trembled. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to take her away from it all.  
Alayne Stone had won the Lord Commander’s affection, but it was Sansa Stark he’d stolen.


	8. you're not useless

They hadn’t expected to find her at the Eyrie. She didn’t even know how Jon found Arya to begin with, but he did. They’d stormed the Bloody Gate with a small army at their back. They came for Petyr’s head. She didn’t think they saw her; she didn’t even know why she was hiding.  
In the end they took Petyr’s head, and they took her too. The men turned out to be from the Nights Watch. Deserters. They were loyal to Jon though, whispered about what happened to him with disgust. For the most part they left her alone, making sure she was ok of course, but they didn’t linger. Perhaps it was Jon’s doing, or Arya’s, maybe it was her, but they treated her like a proper lady. Even as they made their way over the mountains, guiding her horse through the creeks, offering their arms over the rockier terrain.  
It seemed Arya was the only one who understood. She’d run to Sansa as soon as she recognized her, it was as though nothing had changed. They were together again. They talked in hushed voices sometimes, when sleep eluded them. She suspected it was Arya who told Jon that she would try her hardest to keep up if they were to press on.  
Jon avoided her eye most of all. While his men began to falter in their manners Jon held strong. He saw that she had food and drink, extra furs when the wind blew colder. He wouldn’t look at her, she wondered what he saw when he did.  
“You had no idea I would be there, did you?” She said to him as they rested their feet. He was leaned against the tree, sharing a log with her. She had her hands clasped in her lap; Jon’s brow furrowed though his eyes remained closed.  
“No,” he answered in his soft voice. Everyone else was distracted enough that their conversation felt private. She’d expected it, but it still hurt. He’d found Arya all the way across the Narrow Sea somehow. She knew she was never his favorite sister, that he didn’t try though. Robb hadn’t come either.  
“You must think me useless. You died, yet you still managed to bring Arya home. I’ve been alive this whole time, stuck in one place.”  
“You’re not useless Sansa,” he sat up. “Never useless. You’re smart, how else could you have survived as you did? You’re brave, and-” he hesitated as though he might call the words back before they could begin. “-and you’re lovely.”  
“I’m nowhere near as brave as you.” She could feel her cheeks go pink.  
“Braver, in your own way.”


	9. please put it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon/Sansa (in any AU) "Please, put it DOWN."

“Please, put it down,” he watched as she held the message in her hand.   
“Did you think you could stay forever?” She wondered in that maddening tone. The one she used when he’d first come from the Wall. Like she knew every secret he had. Still she set the letter on the table and walked to the chair she’d been recognizing as his.  
“I didn’t think I’d have to leave so soon.” Her gown was light but still anchored him when she curled herself onto his lap, pressing her face to his shoulder. She was comforting him, when it was he who should be comforting her.   
Winter is coming. Words he had heard from the moment he was born, his mother’s words, his daughter’s words. As the Wall started to crumble they sought help, Jon returned home. He would collect the men of Winterfell, rally an army. He didn’t have much time left, with Sansa, or their beautiful little girl. “I’ll come back,” he said, “I swear it.”  
She ran her hands over his face, with that sad smile again. “You don’t have to say that,” he kissed her brow. “I’ll miss you.”  
“I won’t be long, and when I come back I’ll do right by you.” Once the Others were gone he could raise his little girl, she would never wonder who her father was.  
“You’ve already done right by me,” she said, and he could feel her tears soaking through his tunic. “Make a better place for her.”


	10. birthday (robb x margaery)

“Robb, what is this?” Catelyn set the ledgers in front of him. He didn’t have to glance over to know what she was referring to. “Whatever the reason, the North cannot afford this.”  
“We will have to figure something out.” He wouldn’t yield. The North was so different compared to Highgarden, while their nameday celebrations were a modest affair at Winterfell his wife was a true southron woman.  
“Even if we had not just been at war it is unreasonable to request such a thing.”  
“I just want to give her a bit of her home.” His mother’s eyes softened, eyes running over the letters before them.  
“Let’s see what we can do.”


	11. lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss Jon/Sansa  
> Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips.

But gods he has a lovely mouth, Sansa thought as she looked upon him. It was rare that she would wake before him, and she intended to savor this moment. Jon had many appealing qualities; he was a skilled horseman, a good lord of their keep, a fine teacher. Yes, Jon was a fine man, but she would not allow herself to be distracted from her exploration.  
As a girl she was jealous of its fullness, it was unfair for such a mouth to go wasted at the Wall she thought once before he left for the North. She traced its shape, bowed and parted, little puffs of air on her finger. His lips were not wasted on her.  
She loved the feeling of his lips on her, she squirmed at the thought. His lips that gave way to teeth. Teeth that formed the grin, reserved for her. Teeth that grazed her throat, that brushed her earlobe. HIs teeth that nipped at her breasts, that pinched at her thighs before his lips took their place. Teeth that gave way to tongue.  
“Mmmm,” she startled still tracing a finger across his lips. “Have you been watching me sleep?” He took her finger between his teeth, eliciting gasp of delight.   
“Don’t act as though you’ve never watched me sleep.” She tipped her chin up, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He rubbed his thumb in circles on the apple of her cheek, smiling in that ever so affectionate way.   
“You’re beautiful when you sleep,” he murmured sleepily. “You’re always beautiful.”   
“Truly?” She giggled pressing her face into his neck.  
“Truly,” he agreed, turning his head enough to kiss her temple. “My lovely wife, go back to sleep.” His eyes closed again, but his lips quirked into a smile. “Are you still staring at me?”  
“I should very much like to kiss you right now.” She said lining his full bottom lip. He hummed in response. “Of course, if that doesn’t interest you-“   
Even half-awake Jon was quick, pulling her astride him, fingers twisting into her hair, bringing her head down for an eager kiss. No, Jon’s lips were not wasted on her.


	12. Cataglottism - Kissing with tongue

“We can’t do this anymore,” he said softly, too soft to hold a true meaning. She was pressing him into the wall, taking his bottom lip between her teeth. “Sansa, listen to me.”  
“You don’t mean it,” she was looking up at him through her lashes.He never meant it pressing his lips firmly against hers. She slid her tongue across his, nails dragging through his hair the way he liked. He groaned in her mouth, hands sliding down to her hips. She could feel him through her nightshift, and gods it was unseemly the way Jon could make her feel.  
He breathed noisily from his nose, turning to press her to the wall. Drawing her tongue into his mouth that her septa might call obscene. “I mean it, this is the last time,” more stern than before. She imagined Jon was the only man who could sound so serious with pupils blown so wide.  
“Why are you saying that?” She stretched up to meet his mouth again with parted lips, but when she opened her eyes he was too far. “Jon?”  
“It isn’t right,” he moved to his bed. “Father will make a match for you, with someone deserving. Someone worthy of your status.”  
“Worthy of my status? Because a man has land and a title you imagine he will be worthy of me?” She was astounded. “What about love?”  
“You aren’t in love with me.” She bristled, “maybe you think you are but you aren’t.”  
“You mean it? Don’t you?” She wanted to go to him, “what will become of you when I marry then?”  
“I’m going to the Wall with Uncle Benjen.”  
“You’ve been planning this?” He looked guilty enough. “Oh, well then,” she tugged her dressing gown tight across her middle making for the door.  
“Where are you going?” His brow was drawn, grey eyes somber.  
“I’m taking my leave, it’s what you want.”  
“It’s not-“  
“It’s what you seem to think I want,” he stood, walking toward her. Reaching to take her wrist in his hand she jerked away, squeezing her eyes tight. “Goodbye Jon.” When she shut the door he didn’t try to follow her, and she told herself it was the end.  
Maybe that’s when she realized the power in lies. It was when the prince came that she told herself she could love him some day. It’s all I ever wanted, she insisted to her mother, though that was a lie as well. She started to think she imagined Jon’s affection, it was all the better that way. Ever since the royal party arrived he’d been avoiding her, taken to leaving the room as she entered when possible, or better yet spending time in places he knew she wouldn’t wander.   
Arya told her Jon was leaving for the Wall and she had to feign surprise. Arya was the one who told her Jon hated the prince, as though she should be shocked, and rethink her position on marrying him. She wouldn’t change her mind, even if he saw fit to leave the armory and tell her so himself. She would marry the prince, and become a queen. It was possible for queens to love men besides their husbands, like Queen Naerys who married her brother the king, and loved her brother the Kingsguard. She wiped at her eyes, Queen Cersei didn’t cry. Neither did her mother.  
Even when Jon finally pulled her aside she didn’t cry. A true Northern Queen, made of ice and steel when he tugged her into the library. “You can’t marry him,” he said as though he had any sway.   
“Why ever not? It’s what you wanted for me isn’t it?”  
“What?”  
“The prince will be the king, there is no one more true born than that. No one with more land, or more respect than the future King of Westeros.”  
“You don’t love him,” he insisted. “He’s horrible, have father choose someone else,” Jon pleaded with earnest eyes. “Please,” she could feel his breath ghosting across her face, it reminded her of how he tasted when she kissed him. It hurt.  
“I do love him,” she insisted, if she kept insisting it would be true. He frowned. “I thought I was in love before, but this feels different. If I wasn’t in love with you I must be in love with him.” Jon kissed her then, perhaps as a last resort, meant to change her mind. It only made it worse.  
“Goodbye Jon,” someday maybe her lies would be true, but not today.


	13. the pleasure of being able to say ‘to hell with it’ (lyanna x brandon)

“I don’t want to marry him,” Lyanna mumbled to herself, tightening her grip on the reigns. Ned insisted her betrothed meant well, he had a good heart. She was sure he did, Ned had grown up with him. He didn’t argue with her when she said Robert would stray in their marriage vows, his silence was response enough.  
“We could go to the free cities if father doesn’t listen.” Brandon promised her, sometimes she thought her oldest brother was more of an idealist than Ned or herself. Brandon would not leave Winterfell, his inheritance, or the North even if her father insisted on her marriage.  
She could run though, with or without Brandon she would seek her own fate. And that fate was adventures for the songs, a love true and real. Even without her brother, her anchor she could, she would, make a life for herself.


	14. agelast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> follow up to chapter 12

“They say the Queen never smiles,” Pyp said as they made their way south. Court gossip, Jon thought. The Sansa he knew smiled more often than not, he used to make her smile. Not that he could tell his brothers that, not that they would believe him. He doubted he would get to speak with her alone, but the hope kept him pressing his men onward. Hope that he made the right decision in insisting they part ways; hope that perhaps the boy-prince had grown into a good man; hope that she could look at him and agree every decision they made was for the best.  
Mayhaps he didn’t wish hard enough.  
She hardly batted an eye in his direction. He hadn’t changed so much that she wouldn’t recognize him, what’s more his name was announced when his party entered the Throne Room. Was it possible she was still cross with him for the way they left? When he begged her to marry someone other than Joffrey, and she threw his words in his face.   
“I don’t have all day,” the King called from his throne rousing Jon from his thoughts. He ran his hand over the throne, more monstrous than tales had described. He tried to squash the smug smile that threatened when the King cut his finger on a blade. She regarded her husband with indifference, but Jon didn’t miss the large yellowing bruise barely concealed by her gown.   
It was the last thing he wanted to do, beg anything of the King. Remembering the way he treated his siblings in Winterfell; this was the boy King who had Ned Stark killed. It was enough to stir more than a rage within him, but the realm needed him, and that alone forced the words from his mouth. He rehearsed the words enough, careful to preserve the neutrality of the Watch. The King’s smirk grew, he was going to deny them. Jon stopped abruptly, nothing he said to this boy would matter. He made his decision before Jon and his men entered the room.   
His anger threatened to bubble over, if he wasn’t careful he would meet the same end as his father. The King looked to his queen, smiling unnervingly. Jon couldn’t hear Sansa’s words, her mouth moved so discreetly but he knew she was speaking. Sam tugged on his cloak, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.   
“Stop,” even echoing through the hall the King sounded more like a bossy lordling than a true King. Jon could hear his men shifting behind him. “My Queen makes a point,” he sounded unimpressed, Sansa didn’t even twitch. “You may stay, and at the weeks end have your pick of the dungeon. As a gesture from the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.” A political play, whether the King would admit it or not. House the men of the Watch and they will remember the kindness. He glanced at Sansa once more, wishing to thank her in someway, but her face was drawn in a stoic mask.  
He thought perhaps that was the last time he would see her, though he knew it was unlikely they would come across one another as he rode, to feel the finality of it stirred a sorrow in his chest.  
His sorrow did not last long.   
She stood before the old oak heart tree in a Godswood more lush and warm than Jon ever thought he would behold. Her golden gown fanned at the base of the tree, he wondered if she longed for Stark grey as much as he did. Before he could decide to leave, or to stay her voice called to him. “Hello Jon.”  
“Your Grace,” and she sighed sadly. “I don’t mean to intrude.”  
“You are not,” she answered, gone was the Queen he saw the day before, he saw her for what she truly was. Lonely. His strides were long and quick, kneeling beside her. She said nothing else, only reaching to twine her hand in his. His heavy heart lightened, but his worry remained the same. “I hoped you would come,” he would not mention the waver of her voice.  
“I’m only sorry it took me so long.” He kissed her knuckles then, she shifted to face him and he heard her hiss through her teeth. “Sansa,” the bruise he saw on her chest wasn’t the only one.”  
“He get’s upset when my moons blood comes,” she murmured leaning into him hesitantly. She gave the kingdom an heir within the first year of her marriage, “I cannot stay here Jon.”   
“Of course not,” he smoothed her hair, careful to keep his hands gentle.   
“You must take me away.” She whispered against his neck, “please Jon.” And he swore he would.   
Sam tried to talk him out of the idea, no good comes from Kingslaying, but Sam hadn’t known the pain Sansa felt at the King’s orders. He wouldn’t involve his men in this, but they insisted. Even Sam, in the end, gave in. “I read something,” he told Jon on the night they planned to kill the King. “I think I know who your mother is.”  
Jon had been polishing Longclaw, but stilled. “And your father.” He lifted his head to meet Sam’s eye. “Maester Aemon told me of books here, he said they would help the Watch.” He heard Sam’s words, but could not focus on them. Not now.   
When he brought his sword down across the King’s neck Sansa did not weep. She trembled against Jon, and it was only then he wondered what would happen to her son. His concern for his parentage, for her son, for the watch, abated when she smiled. She was free.


	15. "It's still not quite the way it was/But you promised me this is love"

It wouldn’t be right to say all of her dreams came true. It was hardly possible to imagine what had become of her, but she did have sons named for her family. With twin crowns of auburn and eyes a familiar Stark grey. Her husband’s eyes.   
Ever since they could walk her sons tottered after their father. Robb and Ned watched after their father with stars in their eyes. They were raised by a man from the songs, though Jon avoided the subject. Instead deflecting their queries with questions of his own. There was no denying he loved his sons, for their starry-eyed gazes were only rivaled by their father’s stare unto them.   
They liked to slip past their nursemaid, Robb leading Ned along. Sansa could not imagine where they learned to take such quiet footsteps, but from the first time they snuck out of the nursery Sansa knew where they would be.  
They never heard the door groan open, and the sight of them together caused a painful swell of affection. Robb had dragged a heavy chair from the corner of the solar to sit at his father’s side, his brother was perched on Jon’s knee as they inspected a map. Or pretended to.  
Jon was the first to notice her, appearing both apologetic and delighted. “Mama!” Ned cried in delight. It wasn’t often they were afforded time together as a family. Robb stood, like a proper little lord to offer her his chair, then clambered onto her lap.   
The boys fell asleep at the table that night, while Jon made the ledgers and Sansa worked on letters. He didn’t take her hand, but he ran his hand through Ned’s hair and that was enough Sansa told herself. She had known that when she married her husband may never come to love her as her father came to love her mother. She was home, she had a man who respected her, and sons who would be able to remain in the North, and that would have to be enough.  
She expected Jon to stop coming to her after the boys were born. Maybe he wanted the same thing, for things to be as they were because one evening before the hearth he asked if she would like more children, and she answered if it please you. So try they did, and when the symptoms began to present Jon kissed her on the mouth in his solar.   
Then Lyara was born, and the celebrations lasted for days. He’d been at the Wall when Robb was born, and in Kings Landing when Ned arrived. He sat beside her in the birthing room, despite the protests of those surrounding him. She appreciated the gesture, and was happy to have a hand to hold, to have her husband’s support.  
They didn’t keep separate chambers after that, and she couldn’t bring herself to mind it. He helped to take the pins from her hair, she mended the tears in his clothes and again she thought that this affection, this need for the presence of the other was natural, but surely it wasn’t the love of songs.   
It was only before he left for a mandatory visit to Kings Landing that she broached the subject. “Are you pleased Jon?”  
“Pleased with what?”  
“With your life here? Don’t you ever wish things were as they once were?”  
“If things were as they were before you would be in the south, I would still be on the Wall.” The way his eyes bore into hers made her feel shy, like he could read her mind and see her every question. “Winterfell will never be as it was before,” Jon said. “But just because it isn’t as before doesn’t make it any less valuable.”  
“And of love? Didn’t you ever want to marry for love?” She wished she could call the words back if only to stop his face from falling into that thoughtful frown.  
“The moment I leave I wish to return,” he began, closing the gap between them reaching his hand out to cup her cheek. “When I’m gone I want you at my side,” Jon said. “There are different sorts of love Sansa. It doesn’t have to burn like dragon fire to be true.”   
“I don’t want you to go,” She murmured into his chest. His confession, the validation of her own feelings, shifted the weight she felt at the loss of him.   
“I’ll always come back Sansa, for you I’ll always come back.”


	16. I've missed you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> henry vii x elizabeth of york inspired, from last year

Jon often thought of what Eddard Stark would say about him now. Now that Winterfell was restored, that winter had come and gone, that a Stark was back in their ancestral home. Thinking about Lord Stark led to guilt more often than not.  
Would he understand that Jon only married his eldest daughter so she could return home? When the Queen suggested the betrothal it was to give her claim to Westeros through him, and he would claim it by taking Sansa’s hand. He would have rejected the idea outright but Sansa didn’t contest the idea at all. She didn’t look appalled at the thought of marring a man who was raised as her brother. It was only after that he wondered if she realized she had a choice.  
He bedded her out of duty, but would it have been easier to admit he bedded her for pleasure? He was ashamed at the relief he felt when she admitted she was with child, their evening visits ceased and some of the guilt he felt could abate.  
He’d been surprised to find her company as enjoyable as he did. She had a quick tongue, a mind for politics, somehow she always knew the right thing to say. She’d make a far better Lord of Winterfell than he; but instead of ruling she kept to herself. Jon didn’t realize how much he missed her company, truly, until she was well into her first pregnancy. He didn’t realize it at first attributing the growing sense of loneliness to adjustment. Jon was always solitary by nature.  
One of Sansa’s maids opened the door to allow him in. To her credit Sansa did not seem surprised to see him standing before her, in fact she seemed to have been waiting. It was something he appreciated about her in the past, she always seemed to be one step ahead of courtiers, or visiting Lords. Now it was maddening.  
“My Lord,” she smiled dipping her head with a smile.  
“Lady Sansa,” he wondered when he stopped referring to her as simply Sansa. Was it before or after she began to address him so formally? Gods, he was not the sort of man she dreamt of in the past anymore than she was the sort of woman he imagined himself with.  
Still he sat at the little table across from her lifting the playing cards her maid abandoned. She looked at him curiously then before lifting her own. Sansa focused on the game before her, at some point she must have stopped with her needle work, but cards seemed to soothe her. Sighing she put the cards back on the table and looked at him, “you needn’t sit here and entertain me.”  
He sat with her often, listening to her hum as she mended tears in his garments. When was the last time he had done that? “When did you stop sewing?”  
Her neutral mask fell, “I-it’s been nearly a moons turn.” She answered.  
“Shall I get you a nicer deck than these?” He gestured, “if you’ve taken to it.”  
“Don’t bother yourself with such a thing.” He forgot how pretty she was when she blushed. “My fingers are swollen, needle work only irritates that.”   
“Oh,” likely it was something he would have known if he spent more time with his wife.   
“Why have you come here?” She asked, no less pleasant than shed been in the past. To answer her with honesty could ruin what they had. As far as he could tell she endured his presence, tolerated him and his whims. She never sent for him, but when he called on her she acted as though she couldn’t be more pleased by his visit. Running Winterfell was trying, especially without Sansa to take his mind off of it.  
“I missed you.”


	17. woo me

“Are you well my lady?” Jon took her hand over the table, brow furrowing in concern. She held back a sigh, this was going to be more difficult than she anticipated.  
“Quite my lord,” she twisted her hand in his trying to catch his eye once more. He brushed his lips across her knuckles.   
“Are you sure?”   
“Do I seem unwell?”  
“Just different,” he said casting her a curious glance before dropping her hand to resume eating. She hoped he would think her different, she even wore one of her best dresses in the hopes of catching his attention. Her husband was attentive and that was something she was counting on when she hatched her plan to seduce him.  
It was almost foolish to think of. Jon called on her often, an honest effort to conceive a child, to give Winterfell an heir, to start a family. While he worried after her, tended to her as a husband should a wife, she worried that her affections for him were lost. That perhaps his displays and interest were only out of duty, while her’s, well her’s felt like much more than duty.   
She had been thinking such thoughts for some time, they had driven her to distraction some days. Sitting by the fire she would look up and feel such a tender tug at her heart she would drop more than her share of stitches. Had she been so deprived of affection for so long that the mere touch of her husband’s hand caused her heart to race?  
He did not seem affected by her at all. It wasn’t as though he seemed indifferent, perhaps restrained, but for Jon to be reserved while she burned didn’t seem right. Couldn’t be fair, the gods didn’t being them together again only for their marriage to be unremarkable. Were she to act as she was now with her first husband she believes Tyrion would have understood her meaning in seconds; if she’d cast Harry a glance with half the intent she meant for Jon he might not have let her leave bed for days. Jon was a different sort of man.  
“Perhaps you should see that I am well with your own eyes.” She suggested as he escorted her to her chambers. The offer earned her another curious look, but he followed her through the door. Instead of walking toward her bedchamber he sat on the chair before the dying hearth, “Jon?” she wondered. “Do I displease you my lord?”  
He recoiled at that. “Of course you please me. What’s this about?” Sansa straightened her spine, did he really not understand her meaning? “Sansa?”  
Or he understood and was trying to spare her feelings. She let him catch her staring at supper, leaned into him as they walked the halls, she boldly invited him into her chambers. He must have understood, and now she felt as though she could die of embarrassment. It was foolish to expect more out of their relationship. She was lucky her husband was dutiful, silly to believe that duty would evolve into something else. Such dreams were for people who hadn’t wasted their prayers to stay alive.  
Jon was standing before her, trying to see through her mask, gone up instinctively. “Don’t do this,” he tipped his head to rest against hers. “You don’t have to hide from me sweet girl.” His hand came up to cradle her head, “please don’t hide from me Sansa.”  
She’d never kissed him outside of her bedchambers before, but when she caught his mouth with hers he reacted. He never kissed her with an open mouth, held her hips with firm hands. Her skirts rustled when they slid up to her ribs, she pulled away gasping, “I didn’t know-“  
“I thought I was being obvious,” Sansa sighed when his beard rubbed against her throat, he chuckled and she could feel it in her bones. “I wanted to-I thought-“  
“Anything you want Sansa,” He kissed the hinge of her jaw. “Just say the word, it’s yours.”  
Blushing, heart stuttering at the thought she focused on his shoulder, “could you kiss me like that again?”


	18. don't leave me alone in this world

She sent him off to war with a small army of able men, a favor, and a request.

“Don’t leave me alone in this world.”

She would have clung to his furs, held tight with all ferocity she could muster; it was duty that took Jon away, and duty kept her hands firmly rooted to her sides. Their goodbyes were done under the high moon, where he swore when he returned they would be married. He would come to Winterfell a hero, a man worthy of a daughter of the North. No amount of persuasion would change his opinion of himself, though she had tried.

His face softened at her plea, not wanting to give her false hope, still he promised that he would return. Nothing would keep him away, nothing could keep him away. Still when he turned as they left the gates, to look upon her one last time, she wondered if he believed his own words.

Sansa wrote often, responses never came. He lived of that she was sure. There was a moment within these walls that their souls aligned, if he was dead she would feel it. Though he did not believe he would come back, she would have to have faith enough for the both of them.

Her dilapidated castle served as a safe haven for travelers, those who had lost their homes when Winterfell was overtaken. Wartime made hard workers of them all. Sansa had a maester read over her ledgers, limiting resources so that everyone would be fed. Her hands had grown dry from lye used to wash clothes; her own gowns grew looser by the day. The maester tried to set more aside for her, she was after all the Lady of the keep, but there was no fairness in that. What gave her more of a right to rations? A title? She had watched people live like that in the past.

The nights were endless, fires couldn’t burn hot enough, people were dying. She prayed with those that remained, not only for Jon, though he always had a place, for Winter to end, for those that were left to live.

Time continued to pass. Then one day as she was stitching alongside the younger girls, daughters of the men away, teaching them to mend something happened. A pain so sharp ripped through her, it took her breath, and the girls worried after her. Once it passed she felt no better. Like a piece of her was missing, a void, and for the first time since he had gone nearly three years ago Sansa worried that Jon wouldn’t be coming back.

She stayed in her chambers the next day, and the day after that. She remembered when her father died, the emptiness, now it was like a part of her was gone forever. The days seemed longer than ever, it was all she could do to get out of bed, to act as though everything was fine. Soon she could cope, knowing Jon wouldn’t come back, her people were counting on her.

The first time the sun shone a gaggle of children pointed and gawked. Spring was coming, truly this time. Gone as quickly as it came, still those that remained in Winterfell had the hope they so desperately needed. Soon men began to ride from the Wall, and a great feast was being planned. Women presented their husbands to Sansa, beaming with pride. She was happy, truly, soon the crops would begin to grow again, her people would be blessed with children who would never know Winter; it did not escape her notice that none of these men brought news of Jon.

Then one day a crowd gathered. The last of the men were riding south, and the feast would follow. Sansa stood farthest from the gates waiting with hands clasped, her stomach in knots. It was the last day, Jon hadn’t come yet. She could feel her heart thundering in her chest, anticipating the worst, hoping for the best. Men bowed before her before they were escorted into the keep. Though not the man she longed to see.

The whispers stopped, the noise that accompanied a keep seemed to quiet, and suddenly he was moving toward her. Wary, thin, heavily bearded, but alive, Jon was alive. She couldn’t hold back a sob of joy.

“You’re here,” she breathed moving closer. Stretching a hand to smooth across his face, “I thought you died.”

“I did,” he agreed, “but I swore I’d come back.”

“I couldn’t feel you,” the crowd was dispersing. “I stopped feeling you here,” she put his hand to her heart. “How can you be here?”

“It seems,” he said moving close, voice still soft, “death cannot keep us apart.” She laced their fingers together, leading him into the keep. “There’ll be time for that later. I have another promise to keep.”


	19. spring

Snow clung to Sansa’s lashes, dusting Jon’s hair beside her. The chill lessened each day, spring was near, theirs was a love born from winter; Jon took her hand in his, the other reached between them brushing his palm against the swell of her belly.   
He wrapped his bearskin cloak around her when she shivered at the tenderness with which he touched her. The crowd started to disperse after the ceremony, but they stayed in the Godswood even as the sun started to set. “I missed you,” Jon murmured into the crook of her neck.   
“I was worried,” Sansa replied. “Worried that she would make you stay there; worried you wouldn’t come back for me and the babe.”   
“Nothing could keep me away,” he pulled his face from her neck, nose going pink. “I will always come for you, both of you.” She smiled shyly under his stare. “We should get you inside, it can’t be good for the pair of you.”  
“This babe is a Stark, Winter is in his veins.” Sansa countered, still letting Jon guide her toward the keep.  
“Let’s not speak of Winter, not when it’s just ended.” Jon kissed her knuckles.  
“If the gods are good he’ll only know spring.”


	20. nightmares and amusement

Alysanne’s laughter could rouse all the North from their slumber, Sansa liked to believe. Her daughter’s cries were as loud as her laughs, Sansa was always out of bed quickly with Jon at her heels. In the beginning she would cry even as Jon held her in his arms, wail until she saw her mother.   
Her daughter felt safest in her arms, her cries would cease and she would stare at Sansa with her Stark grey eyes in wonder. Sweet Alys loved her mother; she knew Jon worried, not that Alys loved her mother but that she never seemed to want her father. He’d been gone for the birth, summoned to Kings Landing to see to the Queen. He worried that he would always be a stranger to his daughter.   
She rested the babe between them on the featherbed. She blinked her eyes, Jon’s eyes, as she looked at her parents. She always allowed Jon’s attentions when Sansa was in sight, he counted her fingers and her toes and she giggled. Jon delighted at the sound each time. Alys understood laughter to be good and gave them a gummy smile in return.  
“I hope you’ll both forgive me one day,” he said tracing a finger down the bridge of Alys’ nose marveling at the way her nose scrunched in response.   
“Forgive you?” Sansa was taken aback, “whatever for?” Her eyes moved to his, “Jon?” she pressed when he remained silent.  
“I wasn’t here, she knows.”  
“Oh Jon, she’s only a baby, she doesn’t understand that.” She took one of his hands in hers, resting it on the baby’s belly. “It was your duty to go, if there’s anything our daughter will understand it will be duty, and that she is loved.”  
Jon smiled softly at her, they had grown more frequent over the years and made her heart quicken each time. “I’ll be here next time,” he vowed.   
“I don’t doubt that my love.” She said, “but it will take some time for that day to arrive, and until then I only ask that you love us. In time she will recognize you, until then just love us. Can you do that?”  
“Yes,” he breathed, “of course.”  
“Then that’s enough.”


	21. happy in winterfell

From her chambers she could see everything. Rickon, finally free from his lessons, ran across the yard with Shaggydog laughing so loud she was sure they could hear him in Wintertown. Bran was looking on, encouraging them, Sansa watched his fingers twitch from where he sat. Arya was in the practice yard with Podrick, one of the few who she considered a challenging opponent. Despite all that they had lost, and all that they’d been through life at Winterfell was becoming more normal.  
There was a soft knock at her door, and from her post at the window she called “come in.”  
Jon’s footsteps were heavy and sure, Sansa could recognize them no matter where she was. He joined her at the window, smiling at their, no her, siblings. “Sometimes I can’t believe we made it here,” he said, “I think I’ll wake up and it will have been a dream.”  
She knew that feeling well; sometimes in the middle of the night Rickon would crawl into her bed and before she opened her eyes she would think she’d woken in the Vale with Sweet Robin cuddled against her. Maybe when Jon woke in his chambers the bite of the cold air reminded him of the Wall.  
They united the North with the South with the Dragon Queen’s very specific orders. Neither were the Warden of the North, Bran lived and they argued that the right belonged to him. Their child would be Winterfell’s heir, enough to satisfy the Queen, enough to send them home.  
“Why aren’t you down there with them?” she wondered.  
“Why aren’t you?” He countered. “I was with the Manderly’s, trying to establish a trade.”  
“Sometimes I just like to watch, to make sure they’re truly happy.” She told him, “I worry they put on brave faces for me.” His hand hovered at the small of her back, “it’s like you said, sometimes it’s like a dream or a song.”  
“It’s only going to be like the songs,” Jon said with such conviction her heart stirred. He tensed when she leaned against him, trusting him to keep her upright. Hesitantly he turned, pressing a kiss to her temple. They watched the movement in the courtyard for a while longer.  
“We should join them,” she said finally, after Arya had bested her third opponent. Jon’s hand clasped her own, and Sansa believed everything was finally falling into place.


	22. rips and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon doesn't purposely damage clothing but he likes it better after Sansa mends it

“You’re almost as bad as the boys,” Sansa quips from her spot beside him. Jon’s black trousers contrasted with the grey of Brynden’s shirts, in her basket, his reds and whites alongside Robb’s shirts; different as they were they had one thing in common.  
“I’ll stop if you like,” he offers knowing she’ll reject.  
“You’ll do no such thing, it was only an observation,” she peeks up from her stitches. “I don’t remember you being quite so destructive before,”   
“No? I’m sure I was,” he says quickly, kissing her knuckles instead of saying he likes the care she puts into the mending. It makes him feel like he belongs.


	23. cave

“We just have to wait for it to slow,” Jon said, dropping his pack at the base of the cave. The snow had been falling for the better part of the morning, but by midday Jon could hardly see the path ahead. Mountains lined most of their journey North, fortunately there was a cave that they wouldn’t have to climb to.  
Sansa nodded, peeling off her soaked cloak as he built a fire, Jon didn’t consider that much, but when he looked up her gown was beside her cloak on a rock. “They need to dry before I put them back on,” she said practically before he could ask. “You should do the same,”  
She spoke so casually, and really he knew she was right. He’d been in the North long enough to know as much, but to strip himself near bare before Sansa?   
“You’ll catch a chill if you don’t,” she sighed moving to take his bearskin cloak, made for the weather. “And I’ll have to return to Winterfell alone.” She wrapped herself in the warmth of his cloak until his clothes rested alongside hers.   
Together they rested before the fire, wrapped in Jon’s bearskin, taking in the warmth of the other. “I’m glad it was you,” she said when he thought she’d fallen asleep against him. The ride North was hard on her, and he was surprised she stayed awake most days. “I’m glad you were the one to bring me home.”  
“It’s what anyone would have done,” he said, and even as he said she words he could feel the huff of a laugh.   
“No, it isn’t,” she corrected, “I’ve been in the South for nearly eight years. If anyone was coming for me I would have been home by now.” Her hand caught his, twisting, and flexing until their fingers were laced. “Thank you,”  
She was warm against him, falling asleep she wrapped his arm around her middle, pressing her face against his heart. It was too much, he needed to get away. There was something so purely Sansa, that she should smell so sweet, though she’d been ahorse for the better part of a sennight; something that made him feel more than a kinship toward her after hearing the tales of her journey. He tried to unwind himself from her,  
“Don’t go anywhere, ok?” she said so soft against him he couldn’t disobey.  
“I’ll be here as long as you need me.”


	24. widower sansa

Prince Jon made Serena nervous. Not because he was mean, because he wasn’t; he gave her presents, good presents too not like Lord Manderly sent, and talked to her like a woman grown instead of a little girl. No she liked those things about Prince Jon, what she did not like was the way mother acted when he left, which was often.  
Serena didn’t mind that her mother was happy. She didn’t remember her father much, but she knew her lady mother never smiled at her father like she did Prince Jon. She didn’t remember her father lifting her onto his shoulders so she could watch a tourney from up high, she didn’t remember her father holding her hand all that often either. Prince Jon always let Serena accompany him on a hunt, and took her to feed the kennel dogs afterward. He always asked mother for a dance or two, even though he was not as fine a dancer as her father was rumored to be.  
The moments without the Prince around that made Serena nervous, the trouble his absence stirred with her mother. Prince Jon left for months at a time, and one day Serena feared he might not ever come back again. Official palace business brought him to Winterfell, official palace business took him away. His return was always welcomed with a feast, and he always arrived with gifts. It was when he left that made her mother cry, and Serena did not like that one bit.  
She said as much when the Prince sat down with her one day in the nursery. She thought she was much too old for the nursery, but mother insisted it was for the best.  
“What if this was my home instead?” Prince Jon asked, setting one of her dolls, the best one, to the side, resting his head in his hand with a serious expression. “What if I returned here instead of Kings Landing?”  
“You would live here?” Serena wondered, reaching for the doll he set aside.  
“If you find it agreeable,” the prince said. “I’d like to marry your mother.”  
“And be my father?”  
“Only if you like,” he said taking the doll from her hands, trying to catch her focus.  
Serena thought she might like to have Prince Jon as her father, so she nodded and he smiled broadly, kissing her forehead like mama did. “Will you have to leave?  
“Sometimes,” he said, “but hopefully not for a long while.”  
“Good, then mama won’t be sad.” He frowned at that but nodded,  
“Hopefully your mother won’t be sad again.” He promised, and Serena believed him.


End file.
